


Moments

by bluestbluetoeverblue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 14:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestbluetoeverblue/pseuds/bluestbluetoeverblue
Summary: Bucky isn't sure how it happened, but he knows that he loves him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	Moments

Neither can remember when it first happened. Whether they were ten, or twelve, or fourteen. One day they were pals, and then they were more. All Bucky can remember is that they used to hold hands, and he liked that, the feeling of Steve’s cold palm against his. It was so gradual, the way it came on, that by the time Sarah got sick Bucky still wasn’t sure of it happening. He used to sit by the bed while Steve held her hand for hours. Bucky can still remember the cold depth of her cheeks, the way Steve gripped her old rosary during the funeral, how empty the apartment was after, the feeling of Steve sobbing into his shoulder.

Bucky can’t really remember moving in. He had always spent more time there than at home, even when they were kids. They used to cram onto the same twin mattress and tell ghost stories long past dark. Now they share it to keep warm. Bucky remembers holding hands, sloppy kissing in a deserted alley, but Steve says that this is when it started. This is when they became them.

Bucky comes home from a night shift at the docks smelling like bay water. The kitchen is empty, the bedroom quiet. He finds Steve sitting on the fire escape, shivering despite the blanket pulled over his shoulders. Bucky shrugs off his coat and layers it on top. Steve smiles up at him, and Bucky doesn’t bother saying how lame-brained it is for him to sit out here in the cold. Instead, he sits on the step beside him. Steve leans back against his shoulder. The sun hasn’t risen yet; the blue-orange haze has just started to melt over the edge of the city, and in pre-dawn light Steve’s hair seems to glow. They watch the sun come up over the building tops, slowly, and Bucky’s eyes start to droop.

“Let’s go inside,” Steve says, standing and pulling Bucky through the open window.

The truth is that Bucky doesn’t want to go. It’s what his father would tell him to do, it’s what Steve wants so badly, but the last thing Bucky wants to do is fight a war that he's not a part of. After he gets the draft, he drinks so much he can barely walk home. Steve is annoyed about it, Bucky can tell, but he just pulls off Bucky’s boots and helps him into bed.

The next morning, Bucky has a miserable headache, and Steve has a bone to pick. It starts with making breakfast and ends with Bucky slamming the bedroom door.

“Buck,” says Steve’s voice from the doorway some time later. Steve is always the one to apologize first. Bucky fights the urge to still be angry and sits up on the bed as Steve comes to sit beside him.

“I know you think I should have enlisted sooner,” Bucky says.

“You think I want you to go?” Steve’s face is angry again now, but only for a moment. Maybe anger isn’t the right word.

“I know you want to,” Bucky says. “You don’t owe the world anything, no matter how much you want to fight.”

“I just want to do the right thing.”

Bucky has known Steve for as long as he can remember. He knows the way he thinks. He knows that Steve can want to go and understand that Bucky doesn’t want to at the same time. That’s the kind of heart he has. He also knows that no matter what either of them want, Bucky is going and Steve is not.

The closer the day comes, the more the fear shifts. Steve panics, tries every recruitment office in the city. Bucky focuses on home. He pulls every blanket from the top of the closet and piles them onto the bed so that Steve will keep warm. He fixes the front door so that it stops sticking when you try to open it. He digs through the shoe box under the bed, finds an old photo of Steve when they were kids, another of Rebecca. He tucks them into his pack, stares at the uniform hanging in the closet. On the last night, Bucky can’t sleep. He pushes closer against Steve, breathes in the smell of his hair.

In the morning, after Bucky gets dressed, Steve pushes something into his hand. Bucky looks down at Sarah’s rosary, rubs his thumb over the red beads, and shakes his head. He tries to give it back, but Steve refuses, saying, “She’d want you to take it.”

They hold each other for a long time. Bucky worries that he won’t be able to do it, that he will miss the train and be happy about it. Then Steve pulls back and kisses him once, quick, like he’s afraid of the same thing.

Bucky, it turns out, is good at being a soldier. He is good at taking orders and even better with a rifle. He might not have chosen this war, but he learns his place in it. The trenches are familiar to him now. His toes are numb in his boots more often than not. He gets used to the smell, the gunfire, the mud. It’s the cold that bothers him. It’s a wet cold, the inescapable kind.

He forgets how long it has been since he’s heard from Steve. Last news was starting a job in goddamn Jersey, but that was months ago. So Bucky sits down and scratches out a letter.

_Dollface,_

_Remember when you brought that plant home? The one with all the dead leaves the grocer sold you for a nickel? You were so excited to have something alive in the place, and I guess I should have realized what you meant with it being so soon after your Ma, but instead I told you it wasn’t gonna grow. But you kept that thing alive for months and months, moved it from window to window and watered it religiously. I don’t remember what happened to it. I wish I could remember._

_I’m glad you’re home. So you don’t have to see what’s out here, so I don’t have to worry. But truth is I miss you something terrible._

_Stay away from the recruiters, otherwise I’ll kill you myself — and I’m best in the unit, so that’s a promise._

_Yours,_  
_Buck_

Bucky folds the paper up and goes to put it in his pocket, but his fingers graze something else. He pulls the rosary out, and looks at it for a minute. Bucky hasn’t believed in God since he was a kid, neither of them has, but there’s something about counting these beads that helps him sleep, something about the weight in his pocket that makes him feel better. Call it a good luck charm. After all, in Sarah’s worrying hands it kept Steve alive more times than Bucky could count.

Everything is a mess in Bucky’s head. There was an assignment, there were explosions, there was the kennel downstairs and the smell of something terrible burning, then there was the table. Here, he is the opposite of cold. The man with the round glasses has a needle, then Bucky’s skin is on fire. His veins begin to sear. He can barely feel the blade against his skin as his mind begins to contort. He sees monsters, everyone he has ever known, himself, all corrupted. The scalpel slices into his foot. 32557038. His blood begins to boil. A scream rips his throat.

Everything still burns. Bucky isn’t sure his body is still there. He isn’t sure he is still there. The space around him is dark, but monsters hide in the dark. When Steve appears above him, face covered in dirt, blonde hair peeking out of his helmet, Bucky is sure that’s what he is. Then he is upright, and Steve is there and big, too big. He can barely stand on his feet, but Not-Steve grabs him anyway. Then nothing.

He is lying on a cot in a tent. He can hear familiar sounds outside. He sits up and sees Steve at the side of the bed. If he tries hard, Bucky can just remember the explosions and being half-carried through the woods.

“Buck,” Steve breathes, and Bucky is startled. Steve, in hell. Steve, here. His face is the same, but stronger, more filled out. His cheeks have more color, his skin less blue. Bucky reaches out a hand. It lands on a shoulder that is too strong, too high up.

“What did they do to you?” Bucky says in a voice like gravel.

“They fixed me,” Steve says, smiling. Bucky leans over the side of the bed and throws up.

It doesn’t take long for him to be back to perfect health. The nurse who bandages his feet is surprised at how quickly they heal, and how faint the scarring is. But the only thing bothering Bucky is the boy he knew, stretched out of proportion. Steve explains it all to him, but Bucky still can’t process a Steve who’s chest doesn’t rattle when he runs. But this Steve is a war hero who is in charge of his own unit. Bucky doesn’t mind taking orders this way; he’s been following him into fights his whole life. And given the number of people constantly around, Bucky can pretend that this is all normal.

The Commandos have already been working together for weeks before they get more than a few seconds alone together. Steve corners him in the woods outside of their camp for the night.

“Are you upset?” he asks, more sad than accusatory.

“About what?” Bucky asks.

“About me doing this,” Steve says, as if it is obvious. He gestures to himself.

“You’re asking if I’m mad about you being Captain America?” Bucky can hear the disgust lacing his own voice. Steve doesn’t say anything, just squares his jaw. “Did you know I hated him? They’d send those shit stories out here printed all in color, act like the red we were seeing was patriotic. Or worse, some kid would get sent out here carrying them thinking he was gonna sock old Adolf in the jaw.”

The woods are quiet. “I was supposed to be here,” Steve says in a measured voice. “And I am now. I’m trying my best.”

“We’re all trying our best!”

Bucky expects him to walk away in a huff, but this is Steve. The person who could read his mind. This isn’t what the fight is really about.

“I’m still me,” Steve says. He steps forward while Bucky stands still. “They didn’t change anything, not really.”

“They changed everything.”

Bucky hates himself for saying it. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, Steve is standing right in front of him. Their breath shares the same air. He is right, Bucky knows. Because Steve is always goddamn right. When he leads the others in the field, it’s with the same blind resolve that used to leave him bloody in alleyways. When he talks to Agent Carter, it’s with the same smile Bucky always tried to earn with stupid jokes and antics. And when Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his, it feels the same as it used to, just a little bigger.

“I told you,” Steve says. “Nothing really different.”

“Still an idiot,” Bucky says without humor, but Steve smiles anyway. Bucky smiles too. He can feel things begin to change. The fear is melting away. “You still sweet on me, Rogers?”

Steve grins full out now and pulls Bucky closer by the hips. Bucky has to tilt his head up now, but he will get used to that.

“Till the end,” Steve answers.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this one even though it was short and sweet. There may or may not be a second chapter coming soon that ruins your happy ending, so look forward to that. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> [Buy me a coffee if you enjoyed it?](https://ko-fi.com/L4L4WBXK#)
> 
> xoxo


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